Reunion
by unilocular
Summary: They told him she was dead. Episode tag to 16x13. Tiva, but not happy. Angst. **NO HAPPY ENDING FOR TIVA**
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but the typos. If you recognize it, it isn't mine.  
**

**Title:** Reunion  
**Summary: **They told him she was dead. Episode tag to 16x13 "She." Tiva, but not happy.  
**Rating**: Mild Teen  
**Spoilers/Warnings: **General spoilers up through Episode 16x13. No happy ending.

**Author's Note: **_2 chapters. Already finished. I hope to have the next one up shortly. _

_I'm still not sure how I feel about this one. Or that episode. _

_-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-_

The first time he sees her, he thinks she is a ghost. Her reflection in the coffee shop window in ethereal and otherworldly. She looks exactly as he remembers. Curly dark hair framing a beautiful face and cream skin unblemished by the years. Transfixed, he darts through the customers toward the entrance. He threads himself through the mash of bodies and limbs while muttering, "Excuse me" and "I'm so sorry." She begins to blend into the tableau of the city street behind her. He shoves someone aside. He trips over his own feet to get outside.

Outside to her.

"Tim?" The voice behind him is familiar.

He is nearly there. She holds his gaze, her eyes never wavering. They are the only two people left in the entire city. They are the last on the entire planet.

"Is there a Tim here?" That voice jerks him from his stupor.

He makes a mistake. He turns back to the counter where the barista holds out a plain white cup with _Tim _written in swoopy letters on the side. She shakes it at him. A bell for Pavlov's dog.

"Your coffee is ready, Tim." She sounds annoyed.

His chest grows tight. He didn't even realize he was holding his breath. He laughs nervously, mumbling an incoherent apology. He glances back to the window, thinking she'll still be there.

The view is nothing, but morning sun and empty sidewalk.

_-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-_

The second time he sees her, he is on the way home from work. He is walking to the Metro station—Delilah takes the car most days—when he notices her on the opposite side of the street. She heads in the same direction, occasionally glancing at him. Her clothing is forgettable, a pair of jeans and black leather jacket that probably isn't warm enough to withstand the freezing air. Her hair is longer now, but it looks the same as the last time he saw her. A low, curly ponytail pulled to the nape of her neck. Her breath, like his, rises in billowing clouds. Nothing more than a ghost like her.

He wants to approach her, but he knows it will spook her. So, without even acknowledging her, he walks straight to the Metro. He watches her out of the corner of his eye. He takes the steps to the platform. She doesn't follow him.

He sleep-walks through the rest of the evening. Dinner with his family. Johnny stuffs a pea up his nose. Delilah flips out, but he doesn't flinch. Morgan opens the refrigerator and knocks over a gallon of milk. He kneels to clean it up while Delilah deals with Morgan. He reads the twins their bedtime stories and kisses them goodnight. Once they're fast asleep, Delilah looks at him curiously. She always could see right through him. He might as well be made of glass.

"Something is bothering you, Tim." It's a statement, not a question. "You seem distracted."

Half-smiling, he rubs her shoulder. "I'm fine, Dee. It's nothing."

She nods, unconvinced. Mercifully, she drops it for now.

His mind wanders through a time, a full decade away, when the team was just that. A team. Tony, him, and her. Before they were ripped apart by life and everything that comes with it. Back then, he had the luxury of being naïve. He never thought he'd ever be old enough to reminisce about the "good old days," but that's where he finds himself. Not that he can kid himself. Their days weren't all good. Most were, but there was a lot of bad in there too. Like the day she disappeared without a trace. And years later, the day someone from Mossad showed up with Tony's little girl and news that she was dead. Not long after, Tony left everything—and everyone—behind.

After all this, he never once considered she could still be alive.

That night, Delilah gently questions him. He placates her, smiles and lies. Sometimes, it is easier than dealing with the truth. He learned that after Paraguay. He learned a lot after Paraguay.

Giving up, she rests her head on his shoulder. Delilah slumbers peacefully, her breathing low and even. He carefully extricates himself from underneath her. She is so beautiful in the moonlight, her hair splayed against the pillow and face serene.

It is the middle of the night in Washington and just the crack of dawn in Paris. He calls the familiar number. It goes straight to voicemail. Sighing, he knows how crazy what he is about to say will sound. He leaves the voicemail anyway.

"Hey Tony. I think…" His chuckle is awkward and desperate. "I think Ziva might still be alive. I'm probably losing it—no, I definitely am— but I swear I saw her today. Call me back as soon as you get this."

_-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-_

The next morning, he calls out of work. Morgan is sick, he says, and Delilah can't stay home. He can tell Gibbs doesn't believe him, but it doesn't matter. He has never done such a thing before and probably never will again. Thankfully, Gibbs hangs up without asking a single question.

He doesn't know how to draw her out. He spends the morning on the street, walking between the coffee shop and the Metro stop and back again. He walks for miles and miles, but she doesn't show up again. He hadn't really expected her to. It was just his eyes playing tricks on him. That's what he gets after too many sleepless nights with the twins and running himself ragged at work.

Shortly after lunchtime, he heads to her hidey-hole. He spends most of the afternoon, looking at the bookcase brimming with journals. He can't bring himself to read the words. It's just enough that her thoughts are there, self-contained and hidden away. It is like she is still here. With him. He rummages through her desk, surprised to find an old photo of the team in a hidden panel. For a moment, he wanders to those late nights together. The quiet times when it was just him, her, and Tony. Years and years before life got so messy—Somalia, Paraguay, Israel, Tali and the twins.

The sunlight drifting through the window is slowly dying. The rays are growing more golden and fading quickly. It is getting harder and harder to notice the tiny nuances of her hidden world. He puts the picture back where he found it. He forces himself to leave. He doesn't turn on the light because no one needs to know he was here. These private moments with an old friend are just for him.

He takes the long way home. No one follows him.

He slowly accepts he will never know what happened over these past two days. He will never know whether she is still alive or he is slowly losing his mind. He steps off the elevator to his apartment floor.

Leaning against his apartment door, he catches a familiar figure. Tony's designer suit is wrinkled, his tie loosened and askew. Tony's hair is mussed. Dark bags stretch under his eyes. He looks like he hasn't slept in days. At the sight of his friend, Tony is on his feet.

"What's going on, Tim?" He talks a mile a minute. "You call to tell me Ziva is still alive. Then, you pull a disappearing act. I called you a million times. What the hell is going on? Where is she?"

Tim checks his phone. It's on silent. He has 37 missed calls and 12 voicemails. All from Tony.

"I don't know," Tim says simply. "What are you doing here?"

Tony's eyebrows jump. "Did you really expect me to stay home after that news? I left Tali with my dad and caught the first flight I could. We just got back from Croatia this morning. I didn't even have time to pack." He takes a step forward. "Where is she? Where's Ziva?"

Tim shrugs. "I have no idea. She was following me yesterday. At least, I thought she was…"

"And?" Tony presses.

"She didn't show up today."

Shoulders slumping, Tony chews on his lip. He glances down the hallway and back again. Tim wishes he knew what to say, but he doubts words will assuage what Tony feels. Tim is still sleep-walking somewhere between the past and the present. He barely registers the fact that he hasn't seen Tony since Christmas. It feels like his friend never left, like it's just another day. It's one of the things he appreciates about their friendship. No matter how long they go without seeing each other, they always pick up exactly where they left off. Tony was the only one to treat him like normal after Paraguay.

They don't speak as Tim unlocks the front door. Tony follows Tim inside. When Tim flips the light on, he stops short on the wheelchair ramp. Tony bumps into him, gasping at the sight.

There is a ghost on Tim's couch.


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I own nothing but the typos. If you recognize it, it isn't mine.**

**Author's Note: ******_There is no happy ending for Tiva. I repeat, there is no happy ending for Tiva********_

_I'm still not sure how I feel about Ziva still being alive. I love Tony and Ziva, each in their own right. I just can't imagine what she put Tony through with Tali and now being alive? I can't give them a happy ending with all that going on.  
_

_Otherwise, enjoy the last chapter. Lots of angst ahead.  
_

_-oooooooo-ooooooooo-ooooooooo-_

Tony isn't breathing. Tim scarcely is because he isn't accustomed to the undead appearing in his apartment. He might know she is just like him and Tony—flesh and blood and bone—but he can't quite accept it. They told him she perished in that farmhouse. They hunted down Trent Kort for it. They brought her daughter to NCIS, to Tony. By all accounts to Tim's rational mind, she shouldn't be here. And yet, she sits on the couch like she used to. Before everything.

"Ziva, you're here," Tony whispers.

"Tony. Tim. It has been some time." Her eyes glide between them as she gracefully rises.

Tim can't find his voice. Tony must've lost his too.

"Where is Tali?" Ziva asks like she hasn't been gone for five years.

Tony recovers long before Tim. His face blotches crimson. His features twist violently. He takes a step forward, but Tim grabs his arm. Beneath Tim's touch, Tony's entire body is trembling.

"'Where's Tali?!'" His voice is rising. "After everything, all you can say is 'Where's Tali?'"

Her face remains impassive, watching them. Tony moves forward, but Tim holds him back. Tony fights for everything he is worth, and Tim struggles to keep him by the door. Tim doesn't know what Tony has in mind—an emotionally bear hug or a Krav Magna-style brawl—but he doesn't intend to find out. Tony releases a guttural yell that makes Tim ache to his core.

"Where have _you _been!?" Tony shouts. "I watched them bury you!"

Wordlessly, she reaches into her jacket pocket to produce a pair of pebbles. One is black as night, the other white marbled with grey. They were probably the stones Tony and Tali left at her gravesite. Tim had one too, a tan pebble he randomly found inside NCIS. He carried it in his pocket every day, always intending to take it to Israel until life got in the way. He left it behind in Paraguay.

"I know," she says. "I carry them everywhere."

"So that's why we're here? To show me rocks?" Tony laughs at the implausibility of it all. The whole exchange scares Tim. "Where the hell have you been, Ziva?"

When she glances up from the rocks, a sheen dances in her eyes. "I had to go to ground, Tony. That was no life for Tali. She deserved better."

"And you just decided when she turned two, 'hey, maybe I'll fake my death and let her dad take over.'" His expression hardens even further. "It would have been nice to know I had a child. It would have been nice to be a part of her life. Even just a little one. I appreciate being the afterthought."

"That is not what I intended. Tali grew older. She needed things." Ziva studies a picture of Tim's twins on the bookshelves. "Things I could not give her. A life outside that farm house. Stability. A father."

"What she needed was her mother." Tony sticks his tongue between his teeth. To stave off wry laughter or his own tears, Tim doesn't know. "She cried every night for you for months and months. Do you want to know the best part, Ziva? She couldn't understand a damned word I said because she only spoke Hebrew. How was that fair to any of us?" He works his hands into fists. "You should have been there. You _could _have been there."

Tim recalls those hysterical, middle of the night phone calls while Tony adjusted to life with Tali. Tony holding a screaming little girl while Tim, clear across Washington, looked up Hebrew words on Google Translate. Tim never wants to relive those nights again. They survived it together—the last remaining members of the original Team Gibbs. And it was okay at the time because…Ziva was dead.

"It was not my choice," Ziva says.

Underneath Tim's fingers, Tony gears up again. Tim takes the lead. He might have felt like the third wheel on the team, but he was still an integral part of it.

"Tony went through hell," Tim blurts out.

Tony and Ziva stare at Tim as though they forgot he was even here. The flush creeps over his face, and he is thankful his facial hair hides most of it. He shifts his weight. He never thought he could be so uncomfortable in his own home.

Tim finally admits, "We all did, Ziva."

Her expression turns reflective. "I know and for that, I will always be sorry."

"That's why you're here?" Tony turns back to her. "To apologize?"

Meeting Tony's gaze, she takes a breath. "I am ready to come home."

That sets Tony off. Tony lunges down the wheelchair ramp, but Tim grabs him. He whips Tony around, so they face each other. Tim keeps one hand on the back of Tony's neck, the other on his friend's forearm. The hold keeps Tony's face inches from Tim's. Tony's eyes are wild and exhausted, the look of a man who is having his heart ripped out all over again.

Tim drops his voice. "Breathe, Tony."

Tony doesn't. Instead, he hitches, "Ziva…"

"I know," Tim whispers.

Tony's pointing over his shoulder. "And Tali…"

Tim tightens his grip to return Tony to the moment. "I know, Tony. _I know_."

They stand there for a long time, Tim holding Tony's eyes and urging him to "Just breathe." Tony's features flash from agony to anger and back again. Tm didn't know his friend could show such raw emotion. Tim is far too accustomed to the many masks of Tony DiNozzo. For the first time, Tony _finally _lets him in. Fifteen years later.

Tim hears Ziva's soft footfalls on the hardwood floor as she draws closer. Whether she is trying to eavesdrop or ascertain the damage she did, Tim doesn't know. He is no longer the bystander on the team. For once, it is someone else's turn to watch and wonder. It is someone else's turn to reach their own conclusions. Right now, he is calming Tony down enough to talk to his former teammate. His former lover. The mother of his child. His Ziva.

Tony pushes a breath through his teeth. He rolls his tongue around his mouth before grimacing. Tim holds his gaze until the anger diminishes slight. Not quite like normal, but Tim figures Tony won't be able to do much better now. He always was the kind of person to retreat and process when faced with any kind of actual emotion. Tim now understands why.

"Are you good?" Tim asks.

Tony half-nods. "As good as I'm going to be."

Releasing Tony, Tim returns to attempting to blend into the bookshelves. Tony quickly regains his composure as though the slip of emotion never even happened. He straightens his jacket and dusts at the sleeves. Then, he meets Ziva's eyes.

"Why now? Why after all this time?" Tony asks.

Ziva tucks a piece of hair behind her ear. "I have neutralized the threat who would have killed you and Tali if given the chance. It was why I am here. I was tracking them to DC."

Tim steps forward. "Why were you following me?"

"I knew you would call Tony." She smiles sadly like Tim is predictable. "I did not want to approach you for fear you would talk to Gibbs before Tony. I cannot face Gibbs after what I have done."

"But you can face me?" Tony asks.

"It is not a choice I could make." She pushes her hands into her jacket pockets. "I am still in love with you, Tony. I have never stopped loving you."

Tony wilts at the words. "Neither did I…"

She slinks around the couch. Her arms rise as though she is ready to embrace Tony. Tim double-takes between the two of them. Before he met Delilah, Tim would take a lot of insanity from a woman. But what Ziva did? Tim likes to think he would've have been that stupid; Tony even less so. Tim is about to head slap some sense into his friend until Tony finishes his sentence.

"…but, there's someone else."

Ziva stops short. Her expression morphs from shocked to heartbroken before she schools it all away. Her stance stiffens. She transforms from a woman to the Mossad warrior again before Tim's very eyes.

"How?" she asks.

"You're dead, Ziva." Tony clears his throat. "_Were _dead. Tali and I moved on because we had to. Claudine is a beautiful person. Tali loves her." He studies the top of his shoes. "_I _love her."

The only giveaway to her humanity is the glistening in her eyes. She nods carefully as the words slowly sink in. She closes the distance between them before stopping at Tony. She cups her hand against his cheek. Then, she kisses him. She melts her body into his, but he doesn't kiss her back. The only giveaway is the slightest slip in his rigid stance. She recoils to stare deeply into his eyes. His expression hardens.

"I will never stop," she says.

He half-nods. "I know."

On her way out of the apartment, she pauses by Tim. She stares into his eyes for a long moment. Her gaze is tarnished from her Mossad upbringing, Somalia, her years on the run. She places her hand over his heart. One former prisoner of another man's war to another.

"I am glad you came home alive, Tim," she says. "You and Gibbs were not easy to find, but I did what I could without giving myself away."

Tim tilts his head for a better look at her.

"The rebel with the saint's medal," she says. "He was a former Mossad operative who owed me a debt."

Tim reaches underneath his dress shirt to reveal the St. Christopher's medal, now tarnished with time. Smiling, Ziva delicately rubs her finger against it. He touches her hand for a fleeting moment, just to check. She is just as real as him and Tony.

"I wear it every day," Tim says. "Thank you."

"You are welcome." She nods. "Shalom, Tim."

Both a greeting and a farewell. In that moment, Tim knows he will never see her again.

"Goodbye, Ziva."

She disappears into the hallway, shutting the door carefully behind her. Tony violently flinches. He seems barely able to bring himself to look at Tim. His eyes are now red-rimmed, his shoulders slouched. Tim tells himself it's just the jetlag weighing on Tony. Just the jetlag and nothing more.

"Christ, I need a drink," Tony mutters.

Tim laughs. "I have water."

"That'll have to do," Tony says, shrugging.

They end up in the kitchen. Tony seated on one of the bar stools and Tim leaning against the wall by the oven. They sip on bottled water while everything that happened sinks in.

Tim breaks the silence first. "Why didn't you tell me about Claudine, Tony?"

"Because there isn't any Claudine." Tony sips his water. "There never was."

"Then why did you lie to Ziva?"

"She can't decide when to walk in and out of our lives. Tali needs more than that." Tony glances up with haggard eyes. "And so do I. I might care about her, but I can't go through that again."

Just as Tim starts to ask, the front door opens. It occurs to Tim that he never locked it. Tony's body stiffens, his mouth pulling into a frown. Tim doubts he'll be able to face Ziva again. There is a commotion of children—the twins—laughing and screaming. Tony sighs with relief.

"Hey Tim!" Delilah's voice carries as she moves closer to the kitchen. "Did we get a new neighbor? I just saw her and, oh— Hi Tony. Tim didn't tell me you were in town. If I had known you were visiting, I would have made dinner." She shoots Tim a _look _to tell him that he's in for it later_. _

Tim holds his hands up. "I didn't know. I swear."

Morgan and Johnny suddenly come tearing around the corner. Their faces light up when they notice Tim and they fall over each other, giggling and screaming, "Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!" He scoops them up, one in each arm. That keeps them happy until they notice Tony. Morgan checks with Johnny, who nods.

"Unca Tonee!" she shrieks, wriggling away from Tim.

She toddles over to Tony and holds her arms until he lifts her. They share a short hug while she pecks kisses against his cheeks. He laughs.

"I missed you too," he says.

She glances to Johnny, who babbles something in their twin-speak. She translates, "present?" while holding her hands out. Instead of the usual stuffed animals and Tali's old dolls, all Tony has to offer is an airplane napkin, a boarding pass, and a swizzle stick. To the twins, they are new treasures to hold their attention for hours. Morgan points the swizzle stick at Johnny, but he is more interested in the napkin.

"It's great to see you, Tony," Delilah says.

He doesn't look at Tim before he gives a nod. Tony's vulnerability and openness disappear in that one quick movement. He slips his mask—that big, bubbling personality he wears too well—as he grins at Delilah. He raps his knuckles on the marble counter.

"I just came to check on the upgrades to the apartment." He gestures to the new wheelchair high portion of counter space and stove. "I wanted to make sure they were working out for you."

Delilah beams. "It's perfect. You know, you could've just called."

Tony shakes his head. "To be honest, I just needed to see a familiar face."

Delilah shoots Tim a questioning glance.

"0000010," he says.

In a flash, Delilah's demeanor changes. She bristles. Her jovial smile quickly morphs into a serious expression. She holds her hands out to take Johnny from Tim. Then, she tells Morgan that it's time to say good night. Morgan takes to showering Tony with kisses again.

"Let me get the kids to bed," Delilah says. "Then, I'll make dinner. I need to make sure we don't need any emergency repairs on the stove while Tony's here."

Tim nods. "Thanks, hon."

Delilah wrestles both twins into her lap and manages to wheel herself straight into the bedroom. Tim would offer to help, but he learned a long time ago how fiercely independent his wife can be. Nothing changed with motherhood. In fact, she became more willing to do it all—parenting the twins, cooking and working full time. He still doesn't know how she manages it all.

Tony watches Tim strangely. "You're still doing the binary thing, Tim?"

Tim half-shrugs. "It's better if the kids can't understand us. Delilah can't spell to save her life. So it works for us."

"I can see that." Tony quirks an eyebrow. "What was that code anyway?"

"Emergency alone time. Kinda like an SOS."

Closing his eyes, Tony sighs. "Great, so we can talk about – "

"You know what? I'd rather watch a movie," Tim interrupts. "I'll even let you pick."

Tony's head snaps up. He never was one to talk about his feelings, preferring quiet time with an old black and white film playing to actual conversation. Tim is _dying _to know how Tony is doing, but he decides now isn't the time to pry. Tim just smiles and heads into the living room. After trailing him, Tony inspects the bookshelf brimming with DVDs. He tosses his selection into the DVD player.

Tim and Tony collapse onto the couch. They leave the spot Ziva occupied empty.


End file.
